


Fabricated

by harotype (soredewa)



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Canon Compliant, I gave Heero a birthday and I then wrote smut for it, M/M, Not Gundam Wing: Frozen Teardrop Compliant, References to the Heero and Quatre Show, is it smutty enough? you be the judge!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-10-10 09:54:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17423675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soredewa/pseuds/harotype
Summary: AC 20X. Quatre's had all day to think about botching the ‘sexy birthday outfit for Heero’ mission. 1x4.





	Fabricated

_January 14_

 

He’d been in a videoconference with Brussels for hours.  Une didn’t particularly understand the concept of a ‘declared birthday’ and only threatened with him with a slew of forms needing revision on his next visit to Earth.

 

Quatre was nowhere in sight in any large room he passed through.  Unlike him, Heero nearly always had to use physical senses to find him and didn’t always, always know where he was.  

Which just meant it took longer.  He was about to yell. Then Quatre’s voice rang out.

“Could you just come in?  I’ve gotten a little chilly and I don’t feel like walking around this way.”

Puzzled, Heero kept going into their room.  “Is everything okay?”

“Close the door.”

 

Quatre dropped the light blanket from his shoulders.  He was on their bed, in Heero’s black spandex and green tanktop, sitting with a bunch of folders and papers and flushing to the ears.  Heero’s battered yellow hiking boots were in the corner. Even Quatre couldn’t break the taboo of ‘shoes on the bed’ (or even in the bedroom).

Shoeless himself, Heero flung himself onto the bed, neatly scooping up Quatre’s paperwork and tossing it on the floor.  “I take it back,” he said, “everything is... perfect.”

 

“I’m not sure what I was thinking.”

“I don’t know what _I_ was thinking, clearly, but I like what you were thinking.”  He fiddled with the green straps, shifting them back and forth with a glancing touch, then pressing his lips again and again to the reams of exposed pale skin.

“I was hoping, I think, that you would see yourself…” Quatre’s voice was quiet, clever fingers deep in his dark hair. “But more than that, that you would see what I saw in you.”

Heero glanced up.  “I was hot as hell?”

“You really were.”

 

Deftly, almost casually, Heero palmed the crotch of his old bike shorts.  “You know, on further review, apparently this isn’t the best thing to wear when you can’t control your involuntary responses.”  

Quatre shifted against his hand.  “I'm sorry, Heero.”

“What?  Why?” He didn’t _feel_ very sorry.

“I thought this would stretch more than it does.”

“Is it making you that uncomfortable?  Then just take it off.”

“There’s a rip.”

 

Not one that he’d felt or seen.  “I didn't--” Abruptly, Heero shoved his hand between Quatre and the duvet.  There was a small tear in the center seam and then… skin, his middle finger felt, pushing inside.

Heero hadn’t touched many detonators lately, but the roaring wave of heat, the way he momentarily couldn’t hear or speak, the dazed, needy look in Quatre’s eyes that had to be in his, too…

Good things didn’t usually come out of explosions, not so fast.

 

“It wasn’t on purpose?” His voice was ragged, trying to breathe normally.  Most of their sex life was Quatre in calculation and Heero coming happily along for whatever ride.  Most. Not everything, though…

“I swear to you, no.”

Everything seemed to go still and quiet, while he stroked the warm, satiny skin, the firm, curved muscle.  He eased his finger into the cleft, damp with collected sweat.

“Tight,” was all he said.

Quatre hit a new shade of red, and swallowed.

“...Did you want to do this to me then?” Sanc, he didn’t have to specify.  Where they’d been platonic, and peaceful. Until Heero had managed to blow things up by finally kissing him.  “I know you didn’t, but let me think you did.”

“I wanted to every time I didn’t have you after that, _habib qalbi_ … So, fourth time lucky?”

 

Heero leaned forward and quietly kissed the smirk off his face.  It went long, though, long enough that Quatre managed to start undoing his shirt; he finally worked another finger in the rip and Quatre broke off both that and the kiss with something between a yelp and a moan.

“You know that your ass is amazing?”  Was now the time to think of how incredible he was with Heero inside him, and the way it blew every inhibition out of his sunny blond head?  Very much 'not everything', but when it was... wow. 

Only the love of his life could make a mixture of smug and embarrassed attractive.  “So you seem to tell me.”

 

Then again, Heero hadn’t understood attractive before Quatre, or Zero, or those sorcerous blue-green eyes.  Let alone the rest of his body. “My ass was flat and skinny. Yours is… incendiary. That’s why these couldn’t take it.”

Quatre picked up his free hand and pushed his fingers down that exposed chest, past the bit of hair more felt than seen, past the green fabric, stopping at last at a risen, flushed nipple.  “Not everyone has your tolerance, Heero. Stop teasing,” he hissed.

With one yank, Heero ripped the rest of his old shorts.  “These need to be retired. It’s a great time to do something I couldn’t do while I was wearing this.”

 

Quatre groaned, black fabric and Heero’s fingers shifting around his thighs and crotch.

“I was talking to Brussels so long, I didn’t have anything to eat or drink, so swallowing your cock seems like the ideal solution.”

Quatre shifted the hair away from his eyes.  “How about some dinner afterward?”

“That or breakfast.”

“They did make your favorite.”

 

Heero’s tongue skimmed the length of his erection.  “Doubtful.”

Quatre laughed, sighing.  Heero stopped, blinking. That was unrelated laughter.  Then Quatre grabbed his hand, and something flipped and flowed inside of him, and all he could feel was _‘yes’,_ and how much everything was worth it, and that enjoyable confusion of not knowing which of them it was coming from.  “Heero… oh, Heero, I don’t know if it’s _‘mission accepted’ or ‘accomplished’_ , here _..._ but happy birthday, anyway, amazing one.”

 

“I love you too.”  Something else he’d been gifted with since the skinny-assed kid in the spandex.  Besides, all he could say while his mouth was still free.

**Author's Note:**

> 'habib qalbi' = "love of my heart".


End file.
